


Poisoned With Love

by MortemGrimalkinMessor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Amortentia, Angst, Barty lives, Dubious Consent, He Is Failing But He’s Trying, Human-Looking Voldemort, Love Potion Theory, Multi, No Bashing, Poor Harry, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sirius ALSO LIVES Because Fuck You, Snape Is Just Trying To Help, Soulbonds, Voldemort Knows Harry Is A Horcrux, bare with me, because reasons, love potions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-13 21:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortemGrimalkinMessor/pseuds/MortemGrimalkinMessor
Summary: Barty Crouch Jr. manages to escape the night after the graveyard in Harry’s fourth year, only to come back as Voldemort’s right hand in his fifth. With a competent Death Eater running the show, Harry’s rescue mission at the ministry doesn’t go at all how he planned. Now captured by Voldemort, who now knows what Harry is, he needs to be contained. Perhaps Dumbledore was onto something when he said that love was the greatest weapon of all.Amortentia fic based onthisprompt by obsidianpen.





	1. A Change of Staff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ObsidianPen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianPen/gifts).



> For the UMPTEENTH TIME, because my dumbass keeps getting deleted, the love potion fic. WHOOOOOO!

Skeletal, bleach white fingers twirled an equally pale wand between them as Voldemort regarded the man prostrated on the cold floor in front of him. “You may rise, Bartimaeus.”

Barty fluidly straightened from his bow to lock eyes with the serpentine man before him, gaze unafraid and reverent. “You wished to speak with me, my Lord?”

“Yes,” Voldemort murmured. “I plan to have Harry Potter retrieve the prophecy for me tonight. I expect you arrive at the ministry early and wait for him, then return to me once you have prophecy. Do not engage in combat unless absolutely necessary.”

Barty did not hesitate. Barty did not stop to ask questions. He merely knelt again at his Lord’s feet, head hung low. “Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you.”

“I know you won’t.” 

Voldemort knew that Barty was the best man for the job. His most loyal follower—rivalled only by Bellatrix, of course—would give him nothing less than perfection. Barty Crouch Jr. was the only Death Eater who knew of his horcruxes. Not the amount or the hiding places or even the objects, but Barty knew that his Lord had split his soul more than once. And it had been Barty himself to bring the subject matter up! He’d known then that Barty held no lingering affection towards his old family, stuck so foolishly in their light-sided beliefs. Horcruxes were notoriously _dark_ magic, and for Barty to have already read enough about them to bring the matter up to his Lord’s attention, well, Voldemort no longer held any doubt of Barty’s intentions.

After all, Barty was the one who sought him out. Barty was the one to brand his symbol back into the sky. Barty was the one to keep Pettigrew in check and nurse his fragile body back to health. Barty was the one to orchestrate Voldemort’s return to his former glory. 

And it would be Barty that made sure that the prophecy was retrieved.

No, Bartimaeus would not fail him. Voldemort was certain of it.

 

⚜️

 

Harry was in the middle of his History of Magic OWL when his scar began to hurt. That was all the warning he got before the room around him vanished, the desks and faint sound of quills scratching against parchment gone in the face of deafening silence and a long, dark hallway. It was just like the hallway in his dreams, and then he was running, desperate for whatever was at the other, even if he had no clue what it was.

There was a door there at the end of the hall now, and Harry’s heart picked up. He burst through it only to zero in on the scene before him with unconcealed horror.

It was Voldemort. Not only that, but he had Sirius. Voldemort was torturing him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time.” Voldemort began as he relinquished the curse. He was prowling around Sirius like a predator circling prey.

“You’ll kill me before I tell you where it is.” Sirius rasped out fiercely. His voice was hoarse from screaming and his entire body was trembling in exhaustion. 

“Oh, I will. But first you will fetch it for me.” Voldemort lifted his wand once more. “ _Crucio_.”

Sirius let out a choked yell, and Harry’s insides twisted violently. Harry choked out a furious shout, and then he was falling out of his chair, in the testing room once more. Eyes wide and wild, he looked up to see a sea of concerned and perplexed eyes on him, and the Professor crouched in front of him. Harry’s chest heaved and his blood raced with adrenaline.

“Mr. Potter, are you alright?”

Harry hastily scrambled to his feet. “I-I...I don’t feel well. I think I just need to lay down for a bit.”

With that, Harry flew out of the room like a bat out of hell, determined to get to the hospital wing and inform McGonagall about what he’d seen. She could tell the Order and then Sirius would be saved, and everything would be fine. It had to be. 

Only when he arrived at the hospital wing, all the beds were empty. Madame Pomfrey was turning down the sheets to the cot that had held an over-stunned Professor McGonagall not long ago. 

“Where’s Professor McGonagall?” Harry blurted out loudly.

“Don’t shout!” Madame Pomfrey scolded at once. She huffed and smoothed down the covers. “She was admitted over at St. Mungos this morning. What on earth could you need her for?” 

Instead of answering Harry let out a panicked noise and left the hospital wing to track down Hermione and Ron. He nearly ran into them while bolting around a corner.

“Harry! We’ve been looking for you.” Hermione exclaimed, but before she could continue, Harry interrupted.

“He’s got Sirius,” He breathed. “I saw it. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven—he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there.” 

Ron went deathly pale by the end of Harry’s rant, but Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Harry, are you _sure_? Are you completely positive that you weren’t just dreaming?”

Harry bristled, his panic ratcheting his other emotions to new heights. “I know the difference between a dream and reality, Hermione. And even if it is, am I supposed to just ignore it on the off chance that I had a vision— _in the middle of the day_ —that turns out to be wrong? What if I’m right and Sirius is being tortured this very moment? Hermione, Voldemort said he’d kill him. He’s the only family I’ve got left!” Harry shook his head, anger dissipated into anxiety. “I can’t take that chance.”

Ron bit his lip. “I’m with Harry, ‘Mione. Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!”

Clearly torn, Hermione sighed. The furrow between her brows had yet to smooth. “Then we have an even bigger problem on our hands. But we need proof. We can’t just go galloping off without a plan. No offense, Harry, but you _do_ have a saving-people thing, and Voldemort knows it. He might be using this to get to you.”

“So what if he is?” Harry burst out, angry. “I’m just supposed to let Sirius die? I don’t remember you having a problem with my _saving-people thing_ when it was you I was saving from the dementors!”

Before Hermione could respond, a familiar head of red hair popped out from around the corner. “So you admit you have saving-people thing then?”

Harry blinked as Ginny rounded the corner with Luna at her side. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” Ginny replied as she crossed her arms. “And if Sirius is in trouble, we want to help.” She finished firmly, as if daring Harry to disagree.

Harry didn’t.

“We need to contact the Order.” Harry said immediately. A quick glance at Hermione showed that she was, however reluctantly, on board as well.

“If we firecall the Order’s safe house, that’ll be the easiest way to tell if Sirius is really been taken.” Ron answered with a grim nod.

“Umbridge has the only floo that isn’t being monitored. We’ll have to sneak into her office.” Hermione pursed her lips in displeasure.

Ginny grinned. “Sounds like fun. I’m in.”

 

⚜️

 

It was three hours later, after an unhelpful and frankly terrifying conversation with Kreacher, a close call with Umbridge’s expertise with the Cruciatus, absolutely _no_ help from Snape, an ingenious plan from Hermione, and a run-in with the centaurs, before they left for the ministry. After, of course, Harry and Luna helped everyone, and Neville—who’d been caught by the Inquisitorial Squad as well—onto their thestrals.

Though they tended to be more timid, thestrals were _fast_. Harry couldn’t help but compare it to his Firebolt, and was both impressed and disappointed to find that it just...didn’t measure up to the speed of the thestrals.

Soon, because even though Harry protested that it was dangerous, they had all stated firmly that they were coming with him whether he liked it or not, all six of them were racing down the Department of Mysteries, little tags that declared ‘Rescue Mission’ stuck to their shirts. They passed through some very odd rooms—one was full of time-turners, and another held only an archway with a tattered veil hung in it that Harry felt strangely drawn to—but eventually they found the one they were looking for. 

Harry couldn’t help but freeze when he stepped into the room full of glass orbs. It was dark and eerie in his dreams, yes, but it felt much more ominous now. 

He swallowed and forced his feet to move. “Row 97. C’mon!”

The group of teens bolted down the columns of luminous orbs, wands at the ready with Hermione, Harry, and Luna lighting the way. Harry’s eyes locked onto the plaques on the end of the shelves and he counted them off under his breath as he walked. 

“91...93...95…” He skidded to a stop at between shelves 96 and 97. There was nothing there. Harry’s heart thudded loudly in his ears, his entire body feeling cold and bloodless. “H-He was right here. They were right here!” Harry turned back to the others desperately,

Hermione’s expression had become stony, while Ron and Ginny just looked confused. Neville wasn’t looking at Harry at all. Harry followed Neville’s gaze to the shelf, at the very end of which was another orb, except this one seemed to be whispering. “Harry,” Neville breathed. “Harry, it’s got your name on it.”

Now that Neville had drawn his attention to it, Harry could make out a voice there. It sounded strangely like—

“ _Harry…_ ”

“My name?” Harry murmured as he wandered closer, unable to help himself. He peered at the glass, and then at the tag beneath it, which read ‘ **S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D | Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter** ’. As he drew closer, the whispering cleared until a raspy voice was emanating from the orb

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._ ”

Entranced, Harry shivered as the voice trailed off into a hiss at the end. He slowly reached out, hefted the orb into his palm, and watched as its glow dimmed slightly once it had left the shelf. 

Hermione’s panicked voice came from behind him. “Harry—!”

Blinding red light erupted from every side of them, and in seconds Harry was standing alone, his friends slumped unconscious on the floor. Harry snapped back the present and raised his wand, but it was too late. They were surrounded by Death Eaters, who quickly took hold of all his stunned friends, wands to their throats. Harry whirled around on the spot as he tried to pinpoint all of them at once, but it was useless. There was no way he could take them all at once, especially not by himself.

“I appreciate your cooperation, Potter.” A familiar voice hummed.

Harry spun on heel yet again, the glass ball cradled close to his chest. His eyes widened as he saw two more Death Eaters emerge from the shadows; one was a woman with a wild mane of black, curly hair, and the other was—

“Barty Crouch,” Harry gaped, shocked. He shook his head to regain himself as the man smiled at him.

“Junior. Though I don’t suppose that matters much now, seeing as the Senior is dead. But I didn’t come here to chat, I’m afraid.” Barty motioned to the orb. “I’m going to need you to hand that over, Potter. Now.” He extended a hand, palm up, while the other held his wand threateningly towards the other five teenagers.

“Or what?” Harry challenged with narrow eyes. “What is this thing? Why does Voldemort want it so bad?” 

The woman who stood beside Barty went still. “You dare speak his name?” She hissed, eyes wild and crazed. “You aren’t worthy of it, you filthy half-blood!”

Harry bristled, the adrenaline now laced through his blood making him bold. “You know that Voldemort’s a half-blood, too.” When the woman’s face contorted into something ugly, Harry continued, tone entirely too nonchalant. “Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle—or has he been telling you lot that he’s a pure-blood?”

The woman yowled out something fierce, her wand abruptly raised in his direction. Barty lost his blithe demeanor and snarled as he yanked her arm back down. “Shut _up_ , you banshee!” He bellowed as she hissed and spat in his grip. “Need I remind you of what awaits you should you mess this up, Bellatrix?”

That seemed to do the trick. The woman—Bellatrix—abruptly went still and quiet, eyes wide. She yanked her arm out of Barty’s grip with a growl, but didn’t move again. Barty nodded in satisfaction and turned his attention back to Harry.

“Now give that to me, Potter. Or else.” Barty demanded cheerfully, his smile back now that he didn’t have Bellatrix screeching in his ear.

“Or else what?” Harry repeated scathingly as he tried to discreetly look for an opening. There was none.

Barty tipped his head at Harry and stared at him for a moment. Then, with a jerk of his head, Ron was manhandled until he was front and center, the Death Eater’s wand now dug harshly into Ron’s neck. Barty hummed as Harry’s gaze zeroed in on his friend, antsy. “That one dies, of course.”

Trapped and panicked, Harry shifted his feet and snarled. He gripped the orb tighter. “Do anything to him and I shatter this!”

Gleaming brown eyes flashed in something like pleased surprise, but Barty’s grin was anything but pleasant. “I refuse to negotiate with children who can’t tell dreams from reality.” He smirked when Harry went pale. “You do anything to that and they _all_ die. I imagine they mean a bit more to you than that little ball does.”

Harry’s mouth twisted, frustrated at his own helplessness, because this was one of the very few times where his friends were in danger and he couldn’t do _anything_. 

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry asked in return, determined to get some information, at least.

“Give it to me,” Barty replied easily. When Harry opened his mouth again to protest, he narrowed his eyes. “ _Give it to me._ I will not ask again, Potter.” 

Licking his lips nervously, Harry glanced at his unconscious friends once more before letting out a shaky breath. Ever so slowly, he extended his hand until it was directly over Barty’s, then dropped the orb into it. It went completely dark.

Barty grinned and looked the ball over once, just to make sure it truly wasn’t damaged, then pocketed it. He twisted his wand idly and laughed. “Sirius Black is under the Order’s protections—we had no way to get to him. Bellatrix had the elf lie to you to make sure our Lord’s story was sold well. Your beloved godfather is safe, Potter.” Barty assured him. He glanced up with a smirk. “I can’t say the same for you, however.”

Before Harry could react, Barty had jerked his wand to the right and fired a blast of red light into his face. The world went dark.

The Order would arrive fifteen minutes later, to find not a trace of any Death Eaters or Harry Potter, save for four unconscious bodies lying between shelves 96 and 97, the prophecy gone. Thanks to Barty, it would be fifteen minutes too late.


	2. A Change of Plans

Barty strode through the halls of Malfoy Manor while two inert and bound bodies floated just behind him, the prophecy in his pocket and an irritated Bellatrix at his side. He felt like singing. His Lord would be _very_ pleased.

He turned his head slightly to the rest of his party. “Dolohov, take the other one down to the dungeons, will you? Join us in the parlor once you’re done.”

“I should be the one to give it to him,” Bellatrix spat for the umpteenth time after Antonin had left.

“Seeing as you did nothing but stand there and act like an amatuer, I don’t see why you should. I did all the work, after all.” Barty retorted, but a smile twitched at his lips. Not even Bellatrix’s competitiveness could ruin his mood just then.

“The boy, then. I deserve that, _at least_.”

“What, for rotting in Azkaban for fourteen years? Loyalty means nothing if you don’t do something with it, Bella. Even your ostracized cousin escaped before you did. And since then, what have you done for our Lord?”

Bellatrix turned a rather intriguing shade of scarlet, but before she could shriek out an indignant reply, they reached the meeting room. Barty swiped his wand through the air and the doors fell open to reveal a dimly lit parlor, a long, dark oak table set in the middle of it. A fire roared just behind the head of the table, a large viper curled up on the hearth. The rest of the Death Eaters who had not been given the privilege of going on their mission were already sat down around the table. 

Lord Voldemort sat at the head of the table with his fingers templed against his lips. Those dark, crimson eyes sparked when they landed on Barty, and then widened ever-so-slightly when they caught sight of the body hovering just behind him. 

The serpentine man rose slowly from his seat, and Barty fell to one knee immediately, head bowed. “My Lord. I have done what you asked.”

“And more than, it would seem,” Voldemort murmured as he made his way down the table to his kneeling servant. He stopped in front of Barty, though his eyes were still trained on the prone form of Harry Potter. “The prophecy?” Voldemort tore his eyes away from the boy to focus on the little glass orb that Barty pulled out of his pocket and deposited in his Lord’s waiting hand. After a moment, long, pale fingers carded fondly through Barty’s sandy hair. “You’ve done well, Bartimaeus.” He praised softly with an eerie smile.

Barty subtly preened. He stood when his Lord motioned for him to rise and met his gaze without fear.

Voldemort hummed and turned from his soldier to address the rest of the room. “The rest of you are dismissed.” His lipless mouth twitched as everyone stood and hastily began to comply with his order. “Except you, Severus. It is only fitting that you stay.”

Severus froze where he stood, then nodded a bit stiffly and remained where he was. If anyone thought it odd that Voldemort was being surprisingly nonchalant about having his enemy captured and bound in front of him, they didn’t show it. Then again, perhaps that was just because they were all trying to escape the room as quickly as possible. All of them, save Bellatrix, who lingered by the door until Voldemort shot her a sharp look.

“Bring the boy, Bartimaeus. Set him on the table.” Voldemort said once everyone had left. Barty nodded and flung Harry down onto the table with a flick of his wand, the ropes around him abruptly lashing him to the tabletop. Voldemort gave a faint smirk, but focused back on the matter at hand as he cracked the prophecy against wood. A faint, wispy figure of Sybil Trelawney drifted out of the orb and left it completely devoid of light.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_ ”

Yes, Severus had told him this part. It was the rest of the prophecy that held his interest, however, and he listened intently as the Seer droned on, though his eyes were now trained on the very boy of whom the prophecy spoke, who was now beginning to stir.

“ _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…_ ” Voldemort tilted his head curiously. “ _and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_ ”

Trelawney fell silent and disappeared in a puff of bluish smoke. Voldemort ventured closer to the boy, but paused by the edge of the table as he let out a pained groan and started to shift in discomfort. 

Barty was also watching him, an almost pensive look on his face. Severus just looked paler than usual.

“It is very strange,” Voldemort murmured after another moment of silence. His scarlet eyes roved over Harry’s face; a face which was contorted in misery despite not being awake. “Our… _connection_. How he suffers when I am near. How I can feel his emotions at times, how I can make him see whatever I like, no matter what the distance…”

“Yes. Strange.” Severus allowed with a nod, his lips twisted in displeasure.

“My Lord,” Barty whispered after a moment, eyes wide and a bit glazed. He was no longer looking at Harry, but at the snake curled up next to the fireplace. His tongue darted out to the corner of his mouth in a habitual way that showed he was thinking deeply. “I have a theory.” He turned his gaze back to Harry with an almost wild look.

“Yes?” Voldemort mused without looking at him.

“Nagini, my Lord. Perhaps your familiar shares a bit more similarity to Potter than just a language. His connection to you is—” Barty flicked his eyes to Snape warily, but shifted and gathered his wits. “ _Reminiscent_ of hers, is it not?”

Voldemort went still. “What are insinuating, Bartimaeus? Be clear. I am sure Severus knows that everything spoken of in this room is not to leave it. Don’t you, Severus?”

The potions master dipped his head. “Of course, my Lord. I will not breathe a word of this.”

Barty sent him a brief but irritated glare. “Then I will be blunt, my Lord. I think Potter may be a horcrux.” He kept an eye on Snape, whose face was carefully blank. “He can speak Parseltongue, a language only blessed to Slytherin’s descendents. He can tap briefly into your mind and emotions, and you can do the same to him—hence tonight’s success. He feels pain when you’re in any near vicinity of him, and I doubt that it’s just a side effect of a rebounded killing curse. Whatever you had done that night in Godric’s Hollow, with killing Potter’s parents and Lily Potter’s protective magic, it could have been the ritualistic equivalent of what is needed to create a horcrux.” Barty stepped a bit closer and twitched again. “My Lord, if I am correct, that means that you’ve created—”

“A human horcrux.” Voldemort breathed, eyes wide as they locked onto the scar peeking out just beneath Harry’s fringe. 

“My Lord, as incredible of a feat as that is, does this not pose a rather prominent problem?” Severus said after a moment of careful deliberation. To his credit, he’d maintained his composure throughout the entire conversation. “If Potter does in fact carry...a piece of your soul, then that means he cannot be killed. Not unless you’re prepared to dispose of that fraction of yourself as well.” He pointed out.

Frustration bubbled up over the awe that had arisen at his own prowess, and Voldemort cut his siam gaze down at the boy. Though it annoyed him, Severus was right. They couldn’t kill the boy without destroying the soul piece inside, which Voldemort was _very_ unwilling to do.

However, Barty, wonderful Barty, was quick to the jump. “Then we remove it. Once the piece of your soul within Potter is gone, we can put it in something else and execute the boy then.”

“How does one remove a horcrux?” Severus mumbled, wary of being too curious.

“Remorse,” Voldemort murmured as he reached out a hand to hover over Harry’s scar. “One must feel real and true remorse for what they’ve done. That’s the only way I’ve found that can successfully reverse the ritual of creating a horcrux. However, it has a very low chance of success, as it is more likely to kill the boy or myself in the process.” 

“Then perhaps, we use a… _cruder_ method, my Lord.” Barty suggested with a low look. “A more surgical extraction, if you will.” His tongue darted out once more, a quick flash of pale pink.

“What, you mean trying to go in and pry the horcrux from Potter’s soul itself? Would that not be just as dangerous?” Severus shot back, just shy of scathing.

“That is exactly what I meant.” Barty retorted.

Voldemort silenced them both with a quiet hum. “The idea has merit. Done carefully, I should be able to enter his mind and bypass it to access his core. From there I should be able to coax my soul back from him, and replace it somewhere else.”

Barty inclined his head with a smile. Severus pursed his lips. 

“But first,” Voldemort’s mouth twitched upwards. “We must wake him up.”

 

⚜️

 

Harry groaned and lolled his head to the side, a steady thud of ache in the back of his skull. He blinked his eyes open blearily, and squinted. It was blurry and dark. Not a good sign.

Unlike most times when he’d been knocked out, he didn’t wake up too disoriented. No, Harry remembered his fuck up at the ministry quite clearly, and could only think, in his very dizzy mind, that it was odd that he wasn’t dead yet. Hadn’t he been taken to Voldemort? Did Voldemort want to duel again, just to prove that _he_ was superior to the so-called Chosen One, and that the night in the graveyard was a fluke? Or was it something far more sinister? Perhaps the Dark Lord had decided that just killing Harry wasn’t enough anymore—that he wanted to make Harry suffer.

“There you are,” An amused voice—Barty’s—chirped.

Harry jolted and hurriedly scrambled into a sitting position, only to realize he couldn’t draw his wand because one, his hands were tied behind his back, and two; they’d taken it off him.

The world abruptly sharpened back into focus as cool metal was pressed to his face, and he recoiled, blinked rapidly, and stared as Barty’s grinning visage slowly backed away from him to stand next to his master. 

Voldemort was as impossibly tall and intimidating as the last time Harry had seen him, though now he held himself with much more poise. Harry guessed it came with getting used to his new body. Those sanguine eyes stared at him with something idling between calm disdain and reluctant curiosity, and Voldemort tipped his head at Harry before speaking. 

“Harry Potter...We meet again. I should thank you for giving me the means to retrieve the prophecy, but I’m afraid we’re short on time.” 

“Where are my friends? What have you done with them?” Harry spat as he struggled to slip his wrists out of the ropes. 

Voldemort’s answering smile was not at all encouraging, but it was Barty who answered. “They’re safe, Potter,” He drawled, then glanced down at the boy with a slight smirk. “For now.”

Harry grit his teeth and glared at Barty for a moment before turning his attention to his surroundings. “Where am I? Why haven’t you…” He trailed off with a harsh swallow, mouth dry. His eyes locked onto Snape, who stood in the shadows just behind Voldemort, and widened. Harry set his jaw and scowled. “Why haven’t you killed me?”

“Killing you as you are would be more detrimental than helpful, at this point.” Voldemort answered matter-of-factly as he stepped towards Harry.

“W-What do you mean, as I am?” Harry sputtered, shoes shoving against the ground to scoot him away from the Dark Lord’s advance.

“There is something that needs to be done before you can be eliminated,” Voldemort murmured. He caught Harry by the hair before the teen could slide away. Harry hissed like an angry cat and struggled harder. “I’m sure you’re aware of the strangeness of our connection by now.”

Harry stilled abruptly, eyes wide and blazing. “You sent me that bloody nightmare just to lure me to the ministry!” He shook his head roughly to try and dislodge Voldemort’s grip on his hair. “I’ve seen you murder people, I’ve watched you torture your own followers—some leader you are.”

Those dim red eyes flashed in something of annoyance and intrigue, and then sharp nails were digging into his scalp. Harry yelped and froze, head tilted awkwardly to ease the pressure as Voldemort raised a brow at him.

“I intend to break it.”

Now very thrown, Harry blinked owlishly at the Dark Lord. He raised an eyebrow himself, then slumped, mouth in the shape of a surprised ‘O’ as he realized. “You can’t kill me with our link still intact. _That’s_ why I’m still alive.”

That lipless mouth twisted in frustration, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Harry before finally releasing his hair and straightening once more. “For now.” He looked away from Harry towards Snape. “Severus, if you would?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Snape murmured as he revealed a bowl hidden within the folds of his cloak. It was filled with a horribly familiar silver substance, the sickly sweet scent of it invading Harry’s nose as his eyes widened.

“No— _No_. Whatever you’re planning to do with that, keep it away from me.” Harry began to push himself back once more, extremely alarmed.

“Ah, yes,” Voldemort mused airily as he took the bowl from Snape’s hands. He dipped a single, claw-tipped finger into it, then retracted to touch the pad of it to his thumb. Smearing the mirrory, now slightly gelatinous substance between his fingers, Voldemort smirked. “You would be familiar with this particular tool, wouldn’t you, Harry? You happened upon myself in the Forbidden Forest in your first year, using it to its full extent. Such _captivating_ creatures, unicorns.” Voldemort sent Harry a wicked smile that twisted his insides into nauseating knots.

“So, what? You curse me with unicorn blood and that’ll miraculously sever our connection?” Harry snarled sarcastically. He let out a startled grunt when his back met the wall and stopped his subtle escape in its tracks.

“Oh no, of course not,” Voldemort swept forward, that terrible smile still curled at the corners of his mouth.

“So crude, Potter.” Barty crooned from behind the Dark Lord.

“No. I intend to rip it out of you. Slowly. _Painfully_. Until you are begging for death; which, if all goes well, I shall grant you.”

Harry’s complexion turned pallid and his lips pressed into a tight line, eyes wide in unease. Voldemort used the boy’s brief shock to reach forward and swipe his bloodstained thumb across his mouth, smearing the metallic liquid onto the plushness of Harry’s lower lip. When he realized what had happened, Harry jerked his head away and let out a panicked, furious shout.

The blood glinting on his lips dripped until it pooled at the corner of his mouth. A cold, prickly, numbing sensation began to spread out from the spot and in the span of a minute, Harry couldn’t feel the lower half of his face. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth, and his teeth buzzed with something icy that felt oddly like starlight.

Voldemort regarded the now mute form of his foe with a hum. “Much better. Now, let’s see…”

He reached down again and wrapped his hand around Harry’s throat. Letting his own magic seep down into the fluttering pulse beneath his palm, the Dark Lord closed his eyes and latched on to the trickle of curse magic that was bleeding through Harry’s veins.

It swirled and twisted until it leaked out into his chest cavity, where his heart beat frantically, fearfully, in the cage of his ribs. Voldemort huffed and pushed his magic along the path of the curse as—

There.

A blinding light, much brighter than the unicorn’s curse itself, sat innocently at the crest of Harry’s collarbones. Within it, Voldemort could feel it. His soul. It was like a void in the ball of light, a speck of absence in something much bigger than itself.

‘ _Come,_ ’ He cooed into the Chosen One’s chest. ‘ _Come to me. Rejoin your own._ ’

The speck of soul—that glaring absence of light—did no such thing. Instead of rising up to meet him, eager to be reunited, like it should have, it hissed and burrowed more deeply into the light as if seeking warmth. It recoiled from his presence rather than welcomed it.

Voldemort was so startled by the realization that a piece of his soul had just _rejected_ him, that he lost his hold on the magic of the curse and was flung out of the boy’s chest and into reality.

“My Lord?”

The serpentine man snapped out of his shock, crimson eyes wide, and hastily released Harry’s throat to step away from him. Loosing a furious hiss into the air that made the other occupants of the room wince, Voldemort turned and stalked out of the room, a snarled, “Heal him.” The announcement of his exit.


	3. An Immoral Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I wanted to leave you in suspense for when Harry gets doped up with Amortentia~

The next three weeks soothed over the Dark Lord’s ego with the sound of Harry Potter’s screams. The first of many came when Severus had set about extracting the unicorn’s curse from the boy’s body, the process horribly excruciating. Since he had not killed the creature himself, it was much easier to remove. At least, for Severus.

After that, Barty had made it his personal mission to discover a way to get his Lord’s horcrux out of the boy. Harry was subjected to painful magical scans, sporadic bouts of the _Cruciatus_ , and a dizzying amount of Legilimency, all in the name of trying to force the piece of soul to abandon its host. 

Lord Voldemort observed sometimes, and others he merely waited outside the room and listened as the screeches of pain went hoarse and raspy from strain. 

However, as one week turned into two, and two lapsed into three, he grew agitated. Barty looked wrung ragged, the shadows beneath his eyes proof of his dedication to his task. Yet he continued to yield nothing. Perhaps the only thing keeping Voldemort from taking out his anger on Barty was the fact that he had captured the boy in the first place.

Harry had not lessened in the least, however. Of course, extensive torture and stress on his magic and mind had made him pale and gaunt, the shadows beneath his brilliant eyes much more devastating than Barty’s. But his tongue had yet to lose its sharpness, his gaze had yet to lose its fire, and though he may have screamed and screamed and _screamed_ —Harry Potter had not begged. Not once during the duration of Barty’s experiments did he crack and plead for him to stop. He hurled swears and threats and insults at them as soon as he got his breath back.

It was...intriguing.

Intriguing, perhaps even admirable. No less infuriating, however.

“I should just lock him in a box and sink him to the bottom of the sea.” Voldemort seethed after yet another unsuccessful exploit.

“While I must admit that it would be most satisfying to see you do so, my Lord, I feel it would be detrimental to your cause.” Severus murmured, face impassive. “There’s never been another like him. Human horcruxes have never been explored, my Lord. Who knows what would affect the soul inside? How much sway the original truly holds over the passenger?”

“Are you seriously suggesting that it could hurt the soul piece if Potter gets _sad_?” Barty shot back scathingly.

“Nothing so simple, Bartimaeus,” Snape’s tone was clipped. “Potter’s mental state could be potentially harmful to the horcrux. Any state of disrepair on Potter at all could be dangerous. As I said, this area of soul magic has never been explored. As it is, with the progress we’ve made, it does not look like we can explore it much further.”

Barty’s mouth twisted down into a sour expression. If he were being honest, no matter how much it displeased him, Barty didn’t think there was a way to remove the horcrux in a way that would leave it unharmed. Perhaps it was time to start considering other avenues. It seemed they were all thinking along the same lines, the pregnant silence that fell between the three of them said it all. The tense quiet was shattered by the Dark Lord.

“If he can’t be killed, then he must be controlled,” Voldemort hissed.

“The Imperius curse would—”

“Not work,” Barty snapped, interrupting Severus. “Potter is very resistant to it. He might let it control him for a bit, but then he could fight it off later. Wouldn’t put it past him, either, to do that. That boy has a substantial amount of Slytherin in him. I can tell.”

Voldemort’s lips almost twitched at the words. “What do you propose then, Bartemius?”

“…Well.” Of course he had already thought this through as well. He’d been thinking over plans since the moment he learned what the boy was. “I’ve considered many options, my Lord, though I am regretful to say that I only feel confident in the success of two,” Barty’s tongue flickered out in thought. “The first is permanent transfiguration. A human is hard to control, but an animal isn’t...especially not a snake, in your case.”

Voldemort openly smirked. Severus turned a slight green color, but his blank expression betrayed no emotion. “An...amusing possibility,” Voldemort mused. “Though I do not think Nagini would much like the idea of there being another snake in my care.”

At the sound of her name, Nagini perked up from her place by the fire, lifting her massive head. Attention momentarily snagged, she and Voldemort had a short discussion of hisses, the details of which Barty and Severus were not privy to.

Voldemort turned his attention back to Barty. “The other option, Bartemius?”

Barty fidgeted slightly, looking mildly uncomfortable. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Amortentia.”

Severus choked. 

Voldemort’s eyes widened in unconcealed shock. “ _…Amortentia_?” he repeated in a low, dangerous tone.

“With sound reasoning, My Lord,” Barty said in rush, quick to chase the rising anger from his master’s mind. “An Imperius curse, or any kind of enchantment cast with a wand, could potentially be broken by a strong will. Potter has that—I would know, I taught him defensive magic for a year. He is very good. But magic induced by a potion would be different. It must run its course. So, if he were under the influence of Amortentia, he wouldn’t be able to fight it. He would be the most loyal slave you could ever hope for.”

“That is a preposterous suggestion!” Severus blustered back immediately. “He would have to take it—God, I don’t even know how often, but probably very! You’ve said yourself the brat has a strong will, and it is that and the attractiveness of the maker which decides the length of time it is effective!”

“Are you calling me unattractive, Severus?” Voldemort said slyly, raising one hairless brow at him. 

Severus looked like a man who has just backed himself into a corner and knew it, and the recognition of it made Voldemort smile.

“…I am saying you are rather terrifying and imposing in every sense of the word, my Lord,” Severus amended wisely, inclining his head. “And considering that the Potter brat was trying and failing to court a girl a year older than himself while at Hogwarts, I don’t know if your ominous appearance is the kind that would lend itself to effective Amortentia.”

“Potter likes boys too,” Barty drawled, to the surprise of both Severus and Voldemort.

“…Why in God’s name would you think that?” Severus asked tonelessly.

“I thought it was pretty obvious when I was there,” He said with a shrug. He offered no further explanation on the matter. “However, Severus makes a fair point. He would need the potion far more often if you were to force him to drink it as you are...But appearances can be altered.”

“You can’t be seriously proposing this!” Severus yelled, his sallow face turning red. “Are you really suggesting that we have our Lord alter his appearance so that he can more effectively _drug_ the boy with Amortentia, all in the name of controlling him?”

“That is precisely what I am proposing,” Barty replied. “The only moment of difficulty would be getting him to take the initial dose—but that’s done easily enough with a few threats to some of his friends; I did grab an extra from the ministry for bargaining purposes. After that, he’ll happily do whatever the Dark Lord says. He’ll drink it every hour on the hour if our Lord tells him to...though he would probably need to do so far less often, if, as you’ve pointed out, his appearance is altered to be more pleasing to the brat.” Barty paused, grinning wickedly. “Besides, imagine how amusing it would be. Harry Potter, reduced to a fool, helplessly in love with the Dark Lord, pining after our master. Albus Dumbledore would have a heart attack at the sight.”

Voldemort, who had gone ominously still several moments ago, suddenly smirked again. His thin lips curled and he started laughing, and once he started, it seemed it was very difficult for him to stop. Barty laughed as well, and only Severus remained still as they did, his face once more turning a slight tint of green.

“Oh, Bartemius,” Voldemort eventually sighed as he looked at him with something bordering on affection. Barty preened at the sound, knowing that glint in his master’s eyes well—it was the look he’s always craving, the one which means he has done well. “You are a _gem._ ”

 

⚜️

 

Severus gathered ingredients with lead in his stomach. Not once during the past three weeks had Barty let him anywhere near Potter. It was clear that Barty didn’t trust him, which was to be expected of a fanatic like Barty. But Severus had never imagined _this_.

Amortentia. The Dark Lord was going to drug Potter with Amortentia to keep him in line.

It curdled his stomach, but what else could he do? Barty had countered every single one of his suggestions—ones loose enough that Potter might actually be able to fight his way out—with reasonable arguments. Even the permanent transfiguration would have been simpler! At least then Potter would still have his mind.

The Dark Lord and Barty had disappeared the hour earlier to find some way of reversing their Lord’s...intimidating features. Severus took the vial of peppermint oil and studied it carefully. Maybe there a way to sabotage the ingredients themselves?

No. The Dark Lord had much too good of an eye for something like that.

Severus sighed and furrowed his brow at the kit made-up in front of him. There was nothing he could do without compromising himself. However, that didn’t mean that Dumbledore couldn’t come up with something. Completely unrelated to anything that had to do with Severus, of course.

The potions master was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the door behind him opening. He smoothed over his expression and turned to bow towards the door.

“Welcome back, my Lor—”

He froze. 

The first person to come through the door was Barty, absolutely _drenched_ in all kinds of viscous liquids, the most prominent of which was the stark scarlet of blood. Something thick and bronze was coated all over his forearms, and in his hand he held something blue and glimmering. Though it was startling sight, it was not what shocked Severus.

Behind Barty stood the new form of the Dark Lord. The towering height remained, but other than that, there was hardly anythhing left of the Dark Lord’s previous startling appearance.

Gone was the grayish tint to his skin. It had been purged to a shade of white so bright it looked as if the man had never seen a sliver of sunlight. And he truly did look like a man, now, instead the monstrosity of before. The sharp fullness of Tom Riddle’s face extended to the hands steepled at his chest, like a priest. Declawed. Pianist like. 

Midnight black hair curled over half-lidded eyes, and, strangest of all, was dotted with flecks of silver. Like stars…

Brilliantly red eyes flashed and dark lips pulled up into a smirk. “Still intimidating, Severus?”

The oppressive aura of magic and bloodied light to his eyes allowed no room for error. This was still Lord Voldemort. Severus swallowed. “Of course, my Lord. Your presence is still unparalleled.”

Barty snorted.

Severus glanced at him. “May I ask how you managed to accomplish such a feat?”

“A rather complex ritual involving a Horned Serpent and the blood of an innocent. The healing properties purged most the black magic from my body, and, unfortunately, some of the practicality.” Voldemort touched his hair with an almost curious expression. “The unicorn curse was bound to leave a mark somehow. Is everything ready?”

“Yes, my Lord. Everything is here except—”

“This.” Barty dropped a vial containing an odd mixture of crimson blood and black hair onto the table next to the blue gemstone he’d been holding. “I wasn’t sure which you’d like to use, so I took some of both, my Lord.”

Voldemort smiled at Barty, and Severus was devastated to find that it looked nearly _charming_. If what Barty had stated earlier was true, and Potter truly did fancy boys as well, then the brat really didn’t have a chance. Severus had to start looking into an antidote as soon as possible.

The Dark Lord swept across the room to the golden cauldron on the work table. “Excellent. Now, out, both of you. I expect minimal distractions until the potion is finished, is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord.” The other two men chorused, before glaring at each other.

Barty was the first to leave, most likely off to change robes and torment Bellatrix. Severus lingered for a moment, torn. He eyed the vial of Potter’s blood on the table and contemplated stealing it. A pointless endeavor, he knew, but tempting all the same.

All Severus could do for the boy now was grit his teeth and pray that Harry Potter was even stronger than he seemed.


	4. Cruel Coercion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously* M-Merry Christmas? Haha, ha, haaa... I know its late plz don’t yell at meh

Harry jolted awake when a loud metal clang rang through his cell. His entire body protested the sound, an almost pavlovian ache spreading through. Tests, tests, tests. Very painful, very thorough tests. Harry wouldn’t think that they would have anything left by now.

It seemed the connection between him and Voldemort was harder to break than they had thought.

Raising his head, Harry squinted at the abrupt light that flooded the space. He was tired, and hurting, but that didn’t mean he would let them know just how much. Whatever pain they decided to dish out, Harry could take. He had done it before, and he would do it again.

He blinked black spots out of his vision and saw three figures silhouetted by the door. One he recognized as Snape, and by now Harry could probably draw Barty with his eyes closed, but the third one was unfamiliar, startling. It a tall man dressed in black, with skin as pale as snow and silky hair that looked like a piece of the night sky had broken off and found a worthy crown to rest upon. It curled just below the man’s jaw, glittering in the dimness of Harry’s cell.

The sharpness of his features and the twist of his smirk was familiar, and it took Harry a minute to realize why. It was the eyes that gave him away.

“Harry Potter…” Lord Voldemort murmured, a smug look in his red eyes.

“What the fuck,” Harry blurted out thoughtlessly, eyes wide. When had _this_ happened? _Why_ had it happened? How did Voldemort change his appearance to something so...not horrifying? What did he gain from it? As far as Harry knew, the Dark Lord had no qualms about keeping his previous, snake-like figure. He probably even prefered it.

“Articulate, as always, Potter,” Snape drawled, voice thick with condescension.

Harry tore his eyes away from Voldemort to scowl at the potions master, “Up yours, you bloody traitor.” He snarled.

Barty took half a step forward, a lazy grin on his lips, the glint in his eyes almost anticipatory. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, there’s no need to be hostile. Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

Snape bristled, but said nothing else. Instead, he slowly withdrew a vial from his cloak, filled with a pearly white liquid. Harry was reminded viscerally of the unicorn blood, and he stiffened. Snape uncorked the vial and all eyes defected towards Harry almost expectantly. Harry stared right back. He wondered what they were waiting for, but was derailed by the scent of petrichor, sandalwood, and sweet treacle. Brow furrowed, Harry looked to the vial in confusion. Whatever it was smelled amazing, which didn’t make sense, because giving Harry nice things wasn’t really par for course these days. 

Looking to the others for an explanation, Harry was surprised to find Barty grinning at him. Voldemort’s smirk had broadened. Snape looked a little sick. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he shifted subtly backwards. “What is that?”

“Amortentia. I don’t suppose you would know what it is?” Voldemort tipped his head with a raised eyebrow.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you,” Harry spat back.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed, something dark and filled with painful promises, his smirk gone, and Harry felt a thrill of terror. But Voldemort did nothing. “Regardless, you will be drinking it.”

Green eyes darted to the vial and back. It smelled really nice, and he was so _tired_ …

Harry wet his lips nervously and clenched his fists. “Ha. Fat chance. It’s probably poison or something.”

Dark lips twitched. “Oh, I think you will. Bartimaeus?”

Barty abruptly flicked his wand, and a small figure dropped out of midair to land with a harsh thud in the middle of the cell. There was a small noise, and then they lifted their head. Silvery-blue eyes met green. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Luna?” Harry yelped, shocked. Horrible dread leaded his stomach until it was in his shoes. 

“Oh, hello Harry,” Luna’s voice was soft and dreamy like always, but it was raspy, like she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for a long time. Her normally bright curls were dirty and limp around her face, which was smudged with black, a bruise yellowing on her cheek. She looked too small, too thin. Those perpetually wide eyes blinked at him. “It’s nice to see you. I think I’ve broken my wrists.” She said wonderingly.

“ _Luna,_ ” Harry abruptly clawed his way across the floor—he didn’t think his legs could hold him—and reached out to touch Luna, who didn’t seem like she could move either. He felt nauseous.

His fingertips hit a barrier, a shimmering wall of yellow, and he banged his fist against it. Voldemort stepped forward and Harry scrabbled at the barrier with a snarl. 

“You—You get _away_ from her! You bastard, you let her go!” Harry roared in fury. He dug his fingers into the wall, like he could claw his way through it with his bare hands. 

Voldemort stared down at him impassively. He reached over to pluck the vial out of Snape’s hands, then dangled it in front of Harry’s face. Harry went still.

“You will drink this, or she will die.”

“You let her _go_ ,” Harry seethed. “You don’t touch her. Hurt her and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” The Dark Lord drawled. “What will you do, Harry Potter? You can barely stand, and yet you think you can pull off some heroic stunt to save your friend?” He took another step forward and looked down his nose at Harry. “No. Your only hope of lessening your friend’s suffering is to do as you were told and drink this.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. The truth of it hit him in the chest like a physical blow, knocked the breath out him, and left him feeling deflated. 

Luna humming faintly drew his attention. She had closed her eyes and relaxed into the grimy floor. “It smells very nice, Harry, but I don’t think you should drink it. It’s nice that you’re worrying about me, though. Like having a friend. You have a good heart, Harry.”

He felt like he had been struck across the face. His hands dragged weakly at the barrier next to Luna’s hands, which were turned at an awkward angle. This was all his fault. “I am your friend, Luna.”

“That’s nice,” She murmured, and Harry thought she might be falling asleep.

The heel of a black boot came down on one of Luna’s wrists, and her eyes flew open with loud cry of pain. She let out a high-pitched whine when Barty ground his shoe down on her broken bones.

“NO!” Harry bellowed. He threw himself at the barrier, but it just shimmered mockingly.

“Enough, Bartimaeus.” 

Barty stepped back immediately, and Luna curled around her hands protectively with a strained noise. Harry’s chest heaved and his stomach twisted. Those sounds were devastating coming from Luna’s mouth. Strange, wonderful Luna, who walked around without shoes because people were cruel, who forgave and forgot with an ease Harry couldn’t imagine. She didn’t deserve this.

This was all Harry’s fault.

Voldemort hummed and spun the vial between his fingertips. “Well, Harry? Have you made a decision?”

Luna lifted her head marginally, just enough to look at him. “Harry, don’t,” She whispered weakly.

He didn’t want to. He really didn’t, even more so now that Luna had asked him not to. Harry flicked his eyes desperately between the Dark Lord, Barty, Luna, and the vial, torn. Heart rising to his throat, Harry felt himself choke on guilt and fear

Luna shivered and closed her eyes. Harry caught a flicker of movement behind her.

“ _Cruc—_ ”

“I’ll do it!” Harry screamed. He banged on the barrier with both hands. “I’ll drink it! I’ll do it! Just don’t—don’t hurt her. She didn’t _do_ anything.” He finished weakly as he slumped against the barrier. It stuttered out of existence, and Harry fell forward onto his elbows. He automatically reached out to take Luna’s hand, but stopped himself at the last moment. He moved his arm to grasp her shoulder and squeeze. “You’re gonna be alright,” He rasped. “You’re going to be okay, Luna.”

“Harry,” She said faintly. 

Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by Voldemort moving forward and extending the vial. Harry pulled Luna closer to him on instinct and swallowed roughly. With a shaking hand, he took the vial and glared up at the Dark Lord. 

Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow at him. Harry looked up at him, felt fury come flooding back into him, felt rage slough through his veins until he was trembling with it. He thought about the Ministry, the vision that Voldemort had given him, the way Umbridge had shaken the foundations of his only home because he was telling the truth, the nightmares about Cedric, about Mr. Weasley. He thought about the pain of the past few weeks, the feeling of agony and second-hand _smugness_ that accompanied it.

“I hate you.” Harry hissed. “You’re cruel and horrible and empty and I _hate you_.”

It was childish, he knew. After all, what good would it do, to tell the Dark Lord just how much Harry loathed him? It wasn’t like he cared. But it made Harry feel better, like a weight had tumbled off his chest.

To his surprise, Voldemort didn’t get angry at Harry’s outburst. On the contrary, he looked amused. Behind him, Barty was grinning maliciously.

Voldemort chuckled. “For now, perhaps.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion as Luna jolted a bit on the floor. He opened his mouth to protest, because it was impossible for him to do anything other than hate Voldemort at this point, after all the bullshit the man had put him through. Luna pawed at his arm to get his attention before he could.

“Harry—”

“Take the girl back to her room, Bartimaeus.” Voldemort interjected sharply.

Harry only had a moment to cling to Luna before she was ripped from his grasp once more. He made a sound of dissent, reached for her again, only for Voldemort to move between them. Harry snatched his hand back before it could brush against the man’s robes.

Luminous red eyes looked meaningfully between Harry and the vial. Harry growled and clenched his hand around it. He wanted to smash it, to throw it in the Dark Lord’s face. 

Shoving the urge down, the retorts, the snipes, the hatred boiling beneath his skin, Harry grit his teeth and tossed the vial back, downing it in one gulp. It was fluffy, and sweet, like swallowing cotton candy. For a moment, Harry was suspended in a moment of apprehension, frozen in his anger, his fear, his dread. 

Then, like a sunrise, something hot and terrible and entirely too bright scoured his chest, bloomed up behind his ribs and pushed into his heart.

And then, Harry Potter felt nothing at all.

 

⚜️

 

Lord Voldemort waited with bated breath as Harry Potter went still on the floor. Barty had left with the girl, and Severus had left as well, gone to tend to his brewery, perhaps. The Dark Lord had noticed that Severus was not nearly as thrilled by the idea of drugging the boy as Barty had been. Voldemort had not been either, at first. 

But necessity and curiosity had won out in the end. He found himself almost anxious for the boy’s reaction. The face of righteous anger, of terror, of _hatred_ , of distaste, they were expressions that Voldemort associated with the boy most, because that was all he’d ever seen.

He had begun to idly wonder what joy looked like on that face, what reverence and awe and _love_ might look like. Those expressions differed, he knew, from the way that Bellatrix looked at him. From the way that Barty looked at him. From the way several others had used to look at him. But that face, he wanted to know what that face looked like in love, in _respect_ , for once. Wondered if the fire in those emerald eyes would dim, or if it would brighten into something else entirely.

Wild black hair tousled as Harry shook his head, then slowly raised his head. Voldemort’s breath hitched minutely. 

Glittering tsavorite eyes widened, pupils dilated, and the boy’s lips parted in awe. He looked overwhelmed, like a startled deer. Harry pushed himself back to sit on his haunches, but never took his eyes back from Voldemort’s. Red blossomed over gaunt cheeks, and he tracked it up to the tips of Harry’s ears in fascination.

“...Hi.” It was a soft, breathless thing. Almost _shy_.

“Hello,” Voldemort’s mouth twitched up in half a smirk. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re beautiful,” Harry blurted, as though he had been asked an entirely different question. The Dark Lord preened privately at the compliment, and watched in amusement as the blush across the boy’s face deepened. “I mean, uh, fine. Good. Great, actually.”

“Truly? Great? You look like you’re in pain.”

Harry pulled his knees to his chest. “Doesn’t matter,” He stated firmly, resolute. “You’re here. I can handle it, if you’re here.”

Then he looked down, demure. _Demure_ , of all things. “And if I were not here? Could you still endure it as well as you are now?”

“If you asked me to.” Was the immediate reply.

_Oh_...

“Such faith…” Voldemort looked at the boy in wonder, an awe that quite stole his breath. Such beautiful, stupid, blindness. Privately, knowing that he would never, ever admit it—he thought Harry Potter was the most perfect creature he had ever seen. 

“Tell me, if I asked you for your heart, would you give it to me?”

 

“You have it already.” As if Harry hadn’t just been spitting curses at him. “Or do you mean literally?”

It was all Voldemort could do not to grin, wolfish. But oh, how strangely ensnaring it was to be trusted so completely. “Come with me.”

 

Harry abruptly scrambled to his feet, then swayed and tilted, overbalanced. Voldemort swept forward and caught him before he could fall on his face. The sparkling reverence that colored the boy’s face soothed over something sharp in his chest. He wondered…

“Can you not even stand properly? How disappointing.” 

Devastation wrecked the reverence until Harry was looking up at him in desperation. There was no anger, no petulance. Not once during the past month had Voldemort seen this stubborn, infuriating boy cry. But now, at the mere suggestion that Voldemort was _disappointed_ with him, those brilliant eyes glistened with tears.

Lord Voldemort was abruptly very, very aware of the power he held over the boy—the child, the so called _Chosen One_ —in front of him. He could ask Harry for anything, anything at all, and the poor, stupid thing would fall over himself to do it. His prophesied enemy, his downfall, the thorn in his side. At his beck and call.

It was dizzying. 

It was _delicious_.

Dark lips curved up into the wicked smile he had been repressing before. He reached down and pressed his thumb into Harry’s adam’s apple. “You would die for me, wouldn’t you.”

Thin fingers fumbled with the collar of his robes and held it in a death grip. Harry nodded, his eyes turning flinty and determined. “I would _live_ for you.”

The profoundness of that statement quite stole his breath for a moment. What a delightful turn of events this was.

Voldemort seemed to have gained himself a little soldier. A naive, impulsive, inexplicably lucky soldier, that perhaps did not know that was what he was just yet. 

He had noticed it before, but now it was even more clear—Harry Potter was a foolishly loyal thing. 

His grin softened into an endearing smile, and he gentled his grip. “Well, let’s get some food in you, then. I imagine you’re hungry.”

If possible, Harry’s eyes widened further, looking even _more_ infatuated. 

Yes, Barty was right. Harry would make a very nice pet, loyal little dog that he was. If all Voldemort had to do was feed him and occasionally offer a kind word, well, that was simpler than he had thought it would be. 

Such a pathetic weakness, love. But at the moment, Voldemort found himself almost fond of it.


End file.
